I'm getting better, right?
by ReyjavikBondivik
Summary: ah?


The month of June was never Denmark's favorite. Every year, in a seemingly never ending cycle, those most important to him celebrated their days of Independence. Their independence from him. But he wouldn't ever let them know that; that every year, he'd force a smile and drink and laugh. Like everything was okay. He knew he wasn't as good of a brother as he should been. He still isn't. But he was trying. He yelled a little less, and cared a little more. Even if everyone went their own way, he still wanted them to know that if they needed him he was there. He'd fight wars for them, even if they didn't know that. He'd give up everything he was to please them. Talk about the world's happiest nation. Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, Denmark focuses on the other Nordics once more. Currently, Norway was smothering Iceland. Emil, of course, had gone red long about trying to shove Lukas off of him. Forcing a grin, Mathias pushes himself off from his spot on the steps and makes his way towards the others.

"Hey, Brosinski, need some help?" He offers. The cool indigo eyes of the Norwegian land on the Dane.

"Emil won't tell me what he wished for." Denmark laughs, the normal antics of the bothers slightly setting him at ease.

"You'll know when it happens. He can't tell you now, unless he wants to lose his wish. Shouldn't you know all this magicy stuff, Norge?" Lukas pouts the slightest bit, something unnoticeable to untrained eyes. But Denmark spent his years trying to figure him out. He'd never say it out loud, but Norway was an open book. Albeit one you needed to translate, but Denmark had the resources.

"Enough of that! Let's cut the cake and have some booze!" Denmark's gaze shifts from Norway to Finland. His tipsiness wasn't hidden well. Every few seconds, the Fin would hiccup. Denmark laughs at the endearing sight.

"I looks like you've already beat us to that, Fin!"

"Maybe." Tino laughs.

"Alright, let's cut the cake!" Denmark seats himself on the other side of Iceland, taking the cake slicer from him.

"H-hey! I can cut my own cake!" Emil's steely glare was one to rival that of Norway's. Not as scary as Berwald's, but most definitely a little bit intimidating.

"But what if you cut yourself, Icy? We don't want blood on the cake, do we?" Denmark teases. Iceland was the last one he lost. He couldn't help being a bit overbearing or protective; even if he knew it annoyed Iceland. He'd hold on to what little he had left. He didn't plan on letting Iceland go completely. One hundred years, even in a thousand, he'd keep holding on.

He can't deny that holding up this facade was exhausting. Every year, after celebrations ended he'd retreat to his room, even if the others were still up and the revelry had yet to end. But something was different this time. He was angry. Not at the others, but at himself. He wanted to scream, to hit something. Anything. Everything. It seemed that the whole world was against him. Every nation and everyone in them, they all wanted to see him suffer. Denmark punched his door, letting out a sorrow filled yell. His fist had broke through to the other side, and there was blood. Lots of it. He didn't care. The pain had yet to register. A door opens and slams shut. He had woken on of the others.

"Is someone there? Trust me, you don't want to mess-"

"It's just me, Norge." Dropping the book in hand, Norway glares at the Dane from down the hall.

"What the hell, Danmark-" Lukas growls,stalking towards him. He freezes a few meters away. "Y-you're crying. Why are you crying?" Bewildered, panic begins to rise, a lump forming in Norway's throat. He hadn't even realized he was crying. The hot drops of salty water streaming down his face suddenly quicken. He tries to respond, to think of an excuse. He says nothing. Norway takes notice of his odd position and the blood streaming down his forearm. Banging loudly once on the door next to him, he quickly clears the distance between them.

"Idiot, what goddamn logic is there to putting your fist through a door?" As Norway worked on carefully freeing his hand from the door, trying not to cause anymore cuts, the door to Finland and Sweden's room opened. "One of you get Iceland, the other go get the first aid kit and come help me." Denmark's sobs became louder.

"A-a-all I-I-I do is...is cause trouble," Lukas let his eyes fall on Denmark's face before silently returning to the task at hand. "I-I-I don't d-de-deserve you." Cold indigo eyes glared up at Mathias.

"Shut up." Instantly, Denmark went silent, save for the sniffles and small whispers. Finland, obviously disoriented from his recent awakening, joins the two with a rather large first aid kit.

"What happen?" He asks worriedly. Lukas shook his head.

"Just bandage him up. We'll talk when he's bandaged, and able to form coherent sentences."

The five Nordics sat together in the den, discomfort and anxiety thick. Twenty minutes they had been gathered, and barely a word had been uttered. I suppose it took that long to figure out what to say.

"You know, that'll end up leaving a scar," Norway finally speaks up. Denmark meekly nods his head. "What were you thinking? Where's the logic in doing something like that?" Denmark let his eyes close, sighing before speaking up.

"I-I'm getting better, right? I-I'm not like I used to be, right? Not that monster I-"

"We all have things in our past that we regret-"

"That's not what I'm talking about. I-I need to know, am I better? Am I still bad? I-I always thought you guys turned out pretty good. So much better than some of the others. B-but I-"

"We wouldn't ever wish you different." Denmark's cerulean eyes go wide and the tears return. One by one, each of the Nordics moved closer to the Dane, Sweden and Finland sat at his feet and Norway and Iceland at his side. Allowing himself to sob harder, he pulled the brothers into his arms. This was all he needed. All he cared about. His brothers were all that's good in the world, all that he needed to keep going.


End file.
